


Apples and Pinecones

by WahlBuilder



Category: Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Abuse of the source material, Crack, Drunk Astartes, Except for Solarion, Fenrisian Pinecones, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Nothing bad happens and everyone is happy, he needs more pinecones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8442535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: A thing that happened when the Talon team got smashed (sans Chyron; he probably mentally facepalmed).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatiZza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatiZza/gifts).



> For Cat who introduced me to these lovely bastards (and the pinecones).

Zeed had his face covered by his hands—though he was peeking through spread fingers. Between the bony fingers, a smirk was gleaming.

Maximmion would have enjoyed the view, he enjoyed looking at the Ghost at any time—but his eyes were glued to a stranger view.

On Inwit, there grew an apple cultivar said to come from Holy Terra itself in even olden times. Inwit was never a gentle place, but human ingenuity made it possible for the apple to grow—right on the ground under the never closing eye on the Inwitian sun. The cultivar was not a tree exactly, not like the colossi of the golden apples in the gardens of the Palace; it was more of a shrub, hugging low to the unwelcome earth. The apples themselves were small, white as Inwitian snow, but as they grew and drank the harsh sunlight, they were blushing red.

Karras’s face was like that apple under the sun.

Max watched in astonishment as Darrion Rauth, one arm wrapped around Karras’s shoulders and pulling him close, murmured something, scarred lips moving sensuously, and whatever he was telling Karras, the Scholar’s face was filling with the pretty red of a ripe Inwitian apple.

Max was torn between embarrassment and amusement, one part of him demanding he left them alone, and another part curious about the outcome of the events. Karras was practically in Rauth’s lap, the Watcher’s free hand playing with Karras’s fingers folded on his thighs which made Karras flex them as if he were trying to reach for something he had wanted for a long time and now was not sure whether he could finally have it.

‘The roses of your cheeks, they made—’ Max caught Rauth’s husky murmur as the Watcher moved his lips to brush over Karras’s ear, and, as if Rauth were a Librarian himself and could control Karras’s body, the red flourished on the Scholar’s ear, following the touch of Rauth’s lips.

‘…they made my tongue a nightingale…’ Karras whispered, no doubt finishing the quote. His eyes were downcast, but if he wanted to escape Rauth’s attention this way, it was not working, for their fingers were entwined now as tightly as the Inwitian apple clinging with its roots and twigs to a cliff face.

Siefer made an indignant croaking sound like a disturbed crow. Max startled, having forgotten that he wasn’t the only witness of the strange display, and looked around anxiously. He found the Prophet in the alcove, his face sullen, a small book in one hand and a goblet in the other, but his eyes were too unfocused to be taking anything in, much less the words in the book. He didn’t seem to pay attention to his surroundings.

Max let out a careful breath—and in the next moment Siefer nudged him in the ribs and pressed his lips to his ear, which made Max heat up not unlike Karras. ‘Let’s leave them to it,’ the Ghost murmured, and spoiled the seeming solemnity of the suggestion with a giggle. ‘C’mon, Max. They won’t notice that we’re gone. They won’t notice anything.’

Max let himself be coaxed onto his feet—and he discovered that he was more drunk than he had thought as the room lurched around him. Siefer clung to him, hugging his arm with both his hands, and pushed him to the door leading out of the common room. In the corridor, as the door slid shut behind them, Siefer unglued himself from Max’s side and doubled-up.

Max reached out, worried that his Ghost might be unwell, but then noticed that Siefer’s shoulders were shaking, and realised that the beloved Ghost was laughing.

Puzzling. But then, Siefer could find a swarm of ‘Nids funny. ‘What?’

The Ghost unfolded himself, looked at Max, and then leaned on the wall to laugh again, pressing a hand to his mouth. High on his cheekbones, there was a colour visible even in the dim light of the corridor. Max barely suppressed the urge to kiss him.

The Ghost waved helplessly with his free hand, long hair rippling like a dark waterfall, and then he finally quacked, ‘I am _so_ asking the Wolves for another barr’l of that, that _scumble_ they make, but, Primarch’s eyes, the Schol’r and Watch’r, they even flirt with quotations!’ A thoughtful look took over Siefer’s face—the look that meant trouble for anyone not fast enough to hide. ‘Wait a minute. Do you think… they’ve been flirting all this time?’

Drinking made Siefer’s sing-songy bird accent even stronger, and Max, with a surge of alcohol-fuelled tenderness, wanted to kiss words right off his Ghost’s lips.

He shook his head— _bad_ idea, the corridor lurched again, and Max had to close his eyes for a moment. ‘Maybe they have. I didn’t know it would take only a barrel of that… scumble for them to get so handsy, though.’

Siefer raised a finger. ‘And Fenrisian pinecones! Used as, as…’ He swayed and clutches at his head. ‘As an ins… incent… incense!’ He slurred something under his breath that Max thought was a curse.

He smiled and, unable and unwilling to rein himself in, he caught the Ghost in his arms, and Siefer slumped, his forehead on Max’s shoulder and his hot breath tickling Max’s neck.

‘To the bed?’ he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful, and Siefer’s lips curved in a smile against his skin.

‘Lead the way, stumpy.’

Max half-dragged him down the corridor, and he did _not_ yelp when the Ghost groped his backside through the breeches.

‘Fenrisian pinec’ns,’ Siefer murmured sleepily into his neck. ‘Handy. Let’s burn them again.’

Certainly, Max thought. If Karras and Rauth don’t kill us in the morning.


End file.
